


Séquelles

by Rapterkitten



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Blood, Blood and Gore, Burns, Character Death, Corpses, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Minor Character Death, PFFT, Post-Series, Rehabilitation, Souls, also just a mention, really bad rehabilitation, they're just mentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 16:59:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4927753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rapterkitten/pseuds/Rapterkitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The aftermath of what had happened was something that couldn't have been avoided;</p>
<p>The aftermath of what had happened was something that couldn't have been helped;</p>
<p>Though, in the aftermath of what had happened, the victim of said aftermath couldn't have been helped either. Couldn't have been helped, couldn't be helped, wouldn't ever be helped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Séquelles

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't noticed, there's only MENTIONS of death/corpses/gore/blood/souls/etc. But I still thought that they should be fairly tagged. 
> 
> As a side note, this took me roughly three days to finish. Mostly because I'd only work on it for about an hour to an hour and a half at a time, really late at night, but whatever. As such it's not in the best condition; There may be some typos, some grammatical errors, and the ending it shitty because it didn't start out with any plot and I'm bad at endings. Despite these imperfections, I still wanted to post it because I'm fairly proud of how long it is. It's longer than my usual, drabble-length works. 
> 
> That is all.

The aftermath of what had happened was something that couldn't have been avoided;

The aftermath of what had happened was something that couldn't have been helped;

Though, in the aftermath of what had happened, the victim of said aftermath couldn't have been helped either. Couldn't have been helped, couldn't be helped, wouldn't ever be helped. At least, not fully. For no one quite knew how to help. They could wrap the bandages tighter around his face, they could dab the coldest of water on the sickening burns, they could shove pills down his mouth to make his emotions more dull, and while none of that seemed to be making matters worse [ though Justin could really do without the pills, he decided quite early on ], it wasn't making things better, either. It was more like... removing the scars on his outermost shell, yet leaving the inner burns alone to fester and become infected. A disgusting notion, but an honest one at the very least.

 

Emotions and memories and mental dysfunctions festering and bubbling and burning and bleeding, held captive by the outer layers of muscle and skin. It boiled within his stomach and his eyes and his shoulder- though honestly that feeling was probably because those spots had been the worst areas to receive those previously mentioned burns. But nonetheless they burned. Emotionally and physically [ though mainly physically ]. Burning and burning and melting and stinging.

Justin longed for the feel of a cold washcloth pressed tightly to the singed skin. Gods above would it feel wonderful; to take away the sting and the burn, edge it away with a cold and dampened cloth. A soothing cold replacing the stinging heat. But alas, Justin was quite sure that wasn't going to be happening any time soon. Placed on one of the most uncomfortable hospital beds he had ever had the displeasure of laying upon, one wrist chained loosely to the headboard. Though the chain was certainly long enough for him to stand up without must restriction [ though that was something he would never do; his legs much too sore and weak to bare his weight for more than a few moments ] the bathroom was much too far from the bed to just get up and walk to. Dammit.

It seemed that the burning would just have to persist until someone [ preferably Stein, with all his medical knowledge ] would come along to check on him and find him whimpering in pain from the rampant stinging of his singed body. He cringed inwardly at the thought of having to wait; If Stein or someone else were caught up in something he was certainly the last thought on their mind. The odds leaning heavily in favor of the idea that Justin would be forced to wait until what could be the end of the day before the cold relief reached him. That thought he didn't like. He didn't much care for the thought of having to be alone until the end of the school day either, but that was merely an echo in the back of his mind. It was a well-known fact to the guillotine that his company wasn't exactly wanted by anyone. Not even Tezca; though the mirror had more than enough reasons to not long for his company. Justin _had_ attempted to kill him multiple times.

Ah. What crimes he had committed. Or rather what crimes he had attempted to commit- of course that was among the crimes he actually had committed. Attempted murder. Joining the enemy. Actual murder. Thievery of innocent souls. Being a general, current waste of space in an infirmary room that could very well have been used for a different patient that may have needed it more- after all the damage that had been done on the moon...

Law was simultaneously surprised and not at all surprised by the lack of people flooding the infirmary rooms. Many dead, many injured. Most injured not even able to make it back in time to get proper treatment, dying before they reached DWMA. Bodies scattered across the battlefield of the moon. Souls ripped from their bodies, their bodies ripped limb from limb. Some didn't even leave bodies behind- at least, not proper ones. Becoming bloody messes. Bloody pulps. Masses of meat and bone and muscle and organ. Unrecognizable, inseparable from the remains around them. How many families had lost someone? How many innocent killed? Bodies mangled. Souls captured, stolen, eaten, ripped from the chest cavities.

Thoughts that left him feeling dull and gross and sick. The burning melting into the very core of his being; reaching down to his empty stomach. Perhaps he would start retching, if there were anything in there. But there wasn't. An empty chasm; more room for the burning and stinging to sit and gather. Justin gave a small cringe, closing his eyes slowly.

Relax.

Calm.

Although he was sure the quickening beat of his heart might alarm someone if it reached a point that was beyond normal ( At least, he thought so- Either that or they would pass by the room, not caring to hear the BeepBeepBeeping of the heart monitor in hopes Law would suffer some sort of fatal heart attack ), which would then give him a reason to bring forth the fact of the burning sensation, perhaps it... wouldn't be the best course of action.

A small twinge of fear in the pit of his gut, swirling among the sting.

Though he would never dare to admit it to anyone, nor would even dare to murmur it out loud, Justin did fear what he had though merely moment ago. What if no one would come? Even through the Abnormal beeping of the heart monitor, what if they looked it over? And perhaps not even for any real medical reason. But rather a fear brought on by the fact that he was obviously not the most liked person around right now. Not liked at all. Some may have even considered him an active enemy to DWMA.

Justin wouldn't blame them; Though he didn't question their logic to the slightest degree. He could hardly walk- let alone be an active, potential threat to DWMA itself. There was a slight temptation to go so far as to call those who those called him an active threat a 'fool'. But he didn't want to go around mimicking the sentence patterns of that dreaded weapon Excalibur, now did he?

No.

Of course not.

He was annoying enough with his constant whimpering and pain. There was no need to go around adding more and more things to the list of reasons people could dislike him. Or rather making one of those reasons even worse than it already was. And, Death, it was quite bad already.

With trembling hands, slim, weak arms slowly moved, causing the chain attached to rattle and clink and his shoulder to scream out in an unpleasing manner as the young man attached to said limbs cautiously rubbed his eyes, placing the clammy palms to the lids of his eyes and giving small rubs. It had been a long day. A long week. A long month, a long year. What an odd saying considering the fact he would never consider it a 'long life'.

But perhaps he wouldn't even be considering it a long year if his perception of time were actually accurate for a change. But time got all messed up when one was lost to reality and the world around them. Drifting in thought and madness and memory and visions. But now a portion of that was gone. Or so he liked to think. Free of madness and visions? Of course not. Though there were particular things to keep his sense of reality at least somewhat chained to the earth. The burning in his body, the ache of his legs, the longing to stand and to speak to another being, the check ups, the changing of the bandages, the pills being forced down his throat before bed every night. Yes. Things to keep the drifting at bay in at least a small part of his mind; making way for the cruel, coldness of a reality Justin most certainly did not want to be apart of, yet was forced to anyways. He would be content to drift in his own darkness for the rest of eternity, if only it were allowed.

But it wasn't.

And what a shame that was.

But, he supposed, if that small pocket of reality hadn't been there, allowing his thoughts and his vision to see the world beyond what was in his mind, he may not have noticed the slow creaking of an opening door. Palms shifting their weight off the eyelids [ Or rather, the eyelid and the place the other eyelid WOULD be ] , faded blue eye slowly opening. He had long since lost his ability to read the presence of another being. Cracked, dry lips slowly opening ever so slightly, air blowing out shallow and raspy and slow in a false attempt to speak.

No noise.

No voice.

The stuttering of his heart keeping his mind preoocupied. Words refusing to form and settle on the tip of his tongue, even when his ears picked up the noise of one of the chairs Stein often pulled up next to him scratching across the floor, coming to a stop beside the bedside. Creaking as the other person- creature- whatever they were, Justin couldn't tell what was what anymore anyways- sat down in the chair.

“ _Whatcha' doin' there?”_

Breath catching in his throat, heart threatening to pick up it's unsteady beat once again, perhaps even fly further off the rail then it already is. His dry lips part again to take in a gasping breath, arms flopping down to his sides, causing the chain to yet again make that horrible, annoying, unpleasent noise that's almost as bad as the spreading sting in his body. Swallow down a gulp of air. Turning his gaze ever so cautiously towards what he will, for now, deem as a stranger. Starring at the.... face, if one could even call it that, searching for familiarity.

He's been lost to the world for so long he can't even recognize Tezca upon a glance, even while sitting there in all his awkward clothing, bear masked glory.

How pathetic Justin himself has become. Eyebrows twitching ever so slightly to form an expression of what could either be concern or sadness. Either or would be readable, less one would be able to dig deep into his mind and find that it was merely an expression composed of the distress brought on by the rampantly growing wrongs the weapon was finding hiding around every corner of both this thing called reality and his own mind.

“ _Knock knock, anyone in there?”_

Law lets out a short noise, narrowing his eyes as though that will, somehow, allow him to focus more on the words currently being spoken to him. The mirror was so close and yet sounded so obnoxiously far away. How annoying. Another breath was swallowed; mind taking it's ever loving time to form the proper response to the heavily accented [ and muffled, for that matter ] words gliding so smoothly from his former colleuges mouth. Finally the words formed, placing themselves ever so slightly on the dried tongue.

“D-d-depends on wh-what you'd count as a-anyone.”

He hates how the internal struggles shows so clearly on his words. Strained; Drawled; Slow; The thought of how he must sound made Justin cringe inwardly. This was not helping his case, most certainly not. How annoying he must be. How stupid. How completely, and utterly cringe worthy. Distress buries itself into his stomach; growing and expanding and threatening to swallow him whole in such a short span of seconds that seem to drag into minutes and hours and years.

“ _Is Justin in there?”_

There's nothing but friendlyness dripping from the voice of the other weapon; And though he should be more than grateful to find not a hint of annoyance, hatred, nor disdain, all Justin can bring himself to feel is a saddening frustration; A frustrating sadness; Emotions he doesn't want to deal with, emotions that shouldn't be prompted from just the tone of the man's voice. Perhaps this is the product of the frayed and damaged wiring of his brain; twitching and glitching thoughts and emotions, going awry and insane. He was going insane. Yes, that was a good explanation.

But that's not who he is.

No.

Rather, that's not who he was. The husk of a blonde with pale and damaged skin and a brain composed of abstract and damaged thought is most certainly not the person Tezca knows; Nor the person Tezca is looking for.

“No, h-h-he's not. Justin hasn't b-been in he-ere in a very long time.”

Tezca does nothing but let out a loud laugh that rings in the younger weapon's ears. Tempting the frayed wiring of his brain to perhaps attempt to call back a long lost memory in which he had heard the same laughter. But there is none.

Tezca does not know the meaning behind Justin's own words. And so he laughs, as though it's a joke. And though the boy laying on the bed, who is most certainly not Justin by the mirror's standards, does understand the meaning of the words that had been haphazardly formed on the tip of his brain and placed ever so lightly and so heavily bitterly against the tip of his tongue-

He laughs along as well.

Because, perhaps, it all is just a joke. Some funny joke that will be over when the laughter ends.

Perhaps Justin will never stop laughing.

 

His body burns hotter.

The aftermath can not be prevented.

 


End file.
